


Caught

by Soraya (soraya2004), soraya2004



Series: Scenes from a courtship [6]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-07
Updated: 2006-12-07
Packaged: 2017-10-14 19:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soraya2004/pseuds/Soraya, https://archiveofourown.org/users/soraya2004/pseuds/soraya2004
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carson is caught off-guard when Ronon finally decides to move in</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught

  
Epiphany steals past Carson in a nightmarish struggle to save the life of a man, who is now one of his closest friends. When he wakes up from it, he finds himself slumped in a chair at Ronon's bedside with one arm draped across Ronon's chest, the flat of his palm monitoring its steady rise and fall. His eyesight is a little bleary, so it takes him a moment to notice that there are other people in the room with them. People, who are hovering over Ronon, trying to check Ronon's vital signs, explicitly disobeying his orders.

The muscles in his legs tense up, and he's about to leap out of his chair when a hand lands firmly on his shoulder holding him back.

"Don't worry, Carson, everything's under control," and Biro's voice cuts smoothly through the tension radiating from all sides of the infirmary.

Carson glances up at her, noting the lines of strain around her eyes. A tone _that_ hard is something he rarely ever hears from Biro, though he also notes that she has the look of someone, who has gone several rounds with a difficult patient and that patient's equally demanding next of kin. Which, in many ways, Carson supposes she has.

Settling back, he closes his eyes for a moment before letting them drift toward Ronon again. "Any change?" he whispers.

"No, not yet." And now the hand on his shoulder is there more for support than restraint. "He's doing remarkably well, all things considered," Biro goes on to say. "He's out of the woods now. His vitals are stable, and there's no trace of the virus anywhere in his system. Really, all he's doing now is sleeping." The gentle squeeze she gives his shoulder _does_ reassure him a little. Then, almost as though it's an afterthought, Biro adds, "You should think about getting some sleep too," before moving away to stand beside the nurse, who's still checking Ronon's vital signs.

From the tone of her voice, Carson can tell that it's _*not*_ a suggestion. Over the last five days, the chair at Ronon's bedside has more or less been his home. Even _he_ accepts that only part of why that has happened is because they were left with no other choice. For five days, he has been the only person a paranoid, hallucinating Ronon could stand to have near him, so that has meant he has had to be Ronon's doctor and Ronon's nurse as well as his friend.

But the world has moved on in the hours he has been dozing. Ronon's paranoia appears to have eased enough for him to let _other_ people touch him; he can see that. Still, he's finding it very hard to leave Ronon's side, and again he accepts that a tiny part of that has nothing to do with ensuring Ronon makes a full recovery.

At some point during the fight to save Ronon's life, Carson knows his objectivity got shattered to the extent that he can only breathe easily now when he sees the steady rise and fall of Ronon's chest. He has seen this kind of thing happen before to doctors, who invest so much of themselves to keep their patients alive that they find it difficult to pull back once the crisis is over. Carson recognizes that he's skirting dangerously close to that edge.

He's well aware that he's displaying levels of emotional attachment unwise for any doctor to feel toward a patient. He also knows that Biro is astute enough to sense this. Yet, even recognizing that much, having to sit and watch his team tend to Ronon makes his hands clench. It feels wrong to him on so many levels. Not the least of which is that he can no longer seem to maintain any sort of professional distance where Ronon is concerned. There's a strange, hollow ache in his chest whenever he sees Ronon lying there looking so lifeless, so still, and the sensation only seems to get worse the longer he stares at him.

In the end, Carson says, "You're right, I should go," knowing it's the sensible thing to do. Though, when he finally makes himself stand up, he finds himself lingering at the sidelines for several minutes, watching Nurse Peterson straighten the sheet around Ronon's waist.

Hours ago, that would have been him; Carson can't help thinking that it still _should_ be him not Peterson or Biro, just him. After days of caring for Ronon so intently, listening for every laboured breath, monitoring every twitch or shiver, he's so deeply attuned to Ronon that he can read all his body's signals. In his opinion, that makes him the best person for this job. Regardless of how competent his team are, only _he_ understands instinctively what Ronon needs.

When Peterson starts to change Ronon's IV, Carson very nearly can't quash the urge to push her to one side and do it himself. And right then he accepts that he _really_ has to go before he does something stupid.

On the way out, he pauses one last time, looking over his shoulder. "I'm sorry about earlier," he says quietly. "For shouting at both of you like that. The things I said . . .. "

His eyes connect first with Peterson's, then Biro's, and in both he finds a measure of forgiveness. His infirmary runs on trust and understanding, not like the labs, which Rodney prefers to run on fear and adrenaline. Still Carson knows what an absolute bear he has been these past few days. Worse even than Rodney, he imagines, because at least from him that sort of behaviour is unusual. He's not sure how long it will take to gain back their trust, but he hopes they'll give him a chance to make it up to them.

"Carson, stop beating yourself up about it," Biro says to him all of a sudden, snapping him out of the guilt. "We all know how much Ronon means to you." The smile she gives him then is kind, almost indulgent. "Go home," she continues in a much softer voice. "We'll take good care of him for you, I promise."

So, eyes a little damp, Carson walks away while he still can. And he's so grateful for Biro's continued support that the implication of what she has just said to him doesn't even register.

***

After several hours tossing and turning, Carson finally manages to fall asleep, but as sleep goes he finds it far from restful. His dreams are full of regret and loss, and he's trapped in them for what feels like forever, watching Ronon slip away from him again and again. Until suddenly he's thrown into a new plane of torture, where he's plagued by a strange yet persistent drumming.

It takes him some time to figure out that in reality someone is banging on his door.

"This is a bloody nightmare," he mutters, sitting up, running his hands through his hair. The banging doesn't go away, though. If anything, it only seems to get louder the longer he stays where he is. After another minute of it, Carson yells, "All right, all right, hold your horses!"

He gets out of bed, and he rushes to the door dressed in just a T-shirt and his boxers. When he opens it, there's a flash of brilliant light, followed by a wheezing: "Hey, Carson! Present for you!" And the next thing he knows John Sheppard is shoving a mountain of muscle at him.

The mountain stumbles into his arms before it leans heavily on him, saying, "Hey, Doc!" in a voice that sounds suspiciously like Ronon Dex's.

Still Carson knows that this can't possibly be Ronon because Ronon is unconscious in the infirmary. Even if by some miracle Ronon were awake, even Ronon wouldn't be insane enough to be up and about barely a day after almost dying. So, in a complete state of denial, Carson helps the mountain, which sounds suspiciously like Ronon, over to his bed, and he settles it there, making sure it's comfortable before he goes back to his door.

Unsurprisingly, Sheppard is long gone, but apparently John has had _actual professional help_ with this insanity because Carson finds his medical kit along with a large bowl, a sponge and a scanner all sitting right outside his quarters. Sighing, he picks them all up and he brings them in, mentally closing the door behind him. He drops the bowl and sponge in his bathroom; the medical kit goes on his bedside table; the scanner he uses to check Ronon's vital signs. And, yes, God help him, that _*is*_ Ronon, who's sitting right there on his bed, wearing nothing but a patient gown and a frown.

Carson's not entirely sure what to say about any of this. So, he takes the easy option and he decides to say nothing, and for a long time he does really well with that, saying absolutely nothing about the fact that Ronon has just spectacularly endangered his own recovery. Except, Ronon keeps shooting these little sideways glances at him, looking more than a little wary. And well he should, Carson thinks to himself as he continues with his scans.

Eventually, Ronon breaks the silence. "You're taking this well," he says very quietly.

"Oh, I'm not, son, don't you worry," Carson tells him, equally quiet, feeling the anger start to boil up inside. "Just so you know, I plan to give you a bloody good hiding when I'm not so knackered."

Paradoxically, the threat seems to make Ronon relax. "Any of that mean you're going to try to kick my ass?" he asks.

"Aye! Especially as I stand a bloody good chance of succeeding while you're as weak as a kitten." Carson puts the scanner down, satisfied that Ronon is no worse off despite his little jaunt through the city. But the anger is still there, simmering and growing, making his jaw clench. "Good God, man," he snaps, unable to hold back a moment longer. "What kind of stupid stunt do you call this?"

The answer he gets completely floors him because Ronon just wraps an arm around his waist and then Ronon draws him close, laying a cheek against his chest. "I needed to know you were safe," Ronon tells him, slowly rubbing his cheek against him. "Couldn't see you when I woke up, so I needed to make sure."

"Oh, Ronon!" Carson gives a deep sigh, and suddenly he has nowhere to go with the anger he has been nursing. It leaches out of him slowly, leaving him feeling deflated and even more exhausted. He finds himself crouching down a little, curling into Ronon, letting Ronon's body shoulder some of his weight just for a moment. Then, he straightens his spine and he says, "Well, as you can see, I'm fine! It's _you_ we have to take care of, okay?" Laying one hand on Ronon's shoulder, he cups the other over Ronon's nape, stroking him there in a rhythm, which he now knows Ronon finds soothing. "Now, let's see about—"

"Later," Ronon cuts him off, voice soft and implacable. "Right now, we both need to rest."

Even though Carson realizes that Ronon has a point, he opens his mouth again, ready to launch into a long lecture about health and responsibility. Before he can start, Ronon tips his head back and derails him completely by blinking up at him with eyes that are sleepy and shaded with affection.

"Look, I promise you can kick my ass all you want later," Ronon goes on, mouth curling up at the corner. "Hell, I'll even stand still for you."

When Ronon chuckles warmly up at him, Carson feels something in his chest go tight. Suddenly, his heart is pounding and he's shivering violently because he can't stop thinking about how close they just came to losing Ronon forever. "Ronon," he croaks, trying to get words past the lump in his throat. "Ronon, _God_! You—I _can't_ —"

"Yes, you can," Ronon insists, tugging gently at his waist. "Just lie down with me, Carson. It's okay, you can rest now."

Carson has no idea where Ronon's going with this or why Ronon keeps looking up at him with such gentle concern, but he's so tired now, so unbelievably tired. So he stops struggling and he lets Ronon pull him forward and then down onto his bed. Moments later, he finds himself drifting off to sleep with Ronon curled around him and that deep, low voice rumbling softly in his ear.

***

The next time Carson wakes up, he's hot and he's sweating, and his face is pressed into by far the hardest pillow he has ever slept on.

Just as he's about to leap off the stranger, who has apparently crawled into bed with him, there's a vague recollection in his mind of John Sheppard showing up at his door and then literally throwing Ronon at him. The longer he thinks about it, the more he starts to remember. And whilst those memories help him piece together _how_ Ronon has ended up in bed with him, they don't explain what Ronon's even doing in his quarters in the first place.

Ronon should be in the infirmary; he should be recuperating under the watchful eyes of Biro and the rest of his team. Yet, try as he might, Carson can't seem to summon up enough energy to get angry with any of them. He lies there for a long time with his head on Ronon's chest, listening to the sound of Ronon breathing. It's such a simple thing, but the warm, live feel of Ronon under him makes his eyes water with joy.

Eventually, he has to get out of bed and start his day.

Rushing through his shower, he gets dressed right there in his bathroom. And because he doesn't want to even consider where Ronon might run off to this time if he wakes up alone, Carson decides to cut short the rest of his morning routine. On the way out, he grabs the bowl, which he left in there earlier, fills it with water, and then carries it back into the room along with a towel, sponge and some soap.

As Carson approaches his bed, Ronon starts to stir. When he sits down next to him, Ronon gives him another one of those warm, sleepy smiles. "How are you feeling today?" Carson asks him, placing the things he's carrying on the bedside table.

"Good," Ronon replies.

"Aye, you are looking much better." The scans he takes then confirm that Ronon has indeed made a remarkable improvement overnight. "I still want you to take it easy for a few days," he adds.

Ronon just rolls his eyes, and Carson has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself smiling. He never expects to win this particular argument, but that doesn't stop him trying.

Leaning forward, he helps ease Ronon out of his patient gown before settling him back against the pillows. Then he picks up the sponge, wets it down and then draws it over Ronon's neck and chest. The pattern he falls into is days old and hauntingly slow, in stark contrast to all those other times when he had to cool Ronon down quickly in order to keep him alive. He lets himself sink into it, finding a measure of peace in the simple familiarity of washing and wiping Ronon down from neck to chest.

After about the tenth pass, he surfaces long enough to notice that Ronon is blatantly staring at him. "What?" he asks, curious.

"You did this for me when I was sick."

It's not a question exactly, still Carson nods as he wets the sponge and then wrings it out before starting all over again. "You wouldn't let anyone else _near_ you let alone touch you," he explains, drawing the sponge down across Ronon's stomach and back up to his chest. "Sometimes, you just . . .. "

Carson closes his eyes briefly, flashing back to the nights he spent at Ronon's side desperately washing him down, terrified that if he stopped Ronon would burn up and just slip away.

"Thank-you," Ronon whispers, touching him gently on the arm.

And Carson looks away then, flayed by the emotion he hears in Ronon's voice. He doesn't want to say that it's his job because Ronon means far more to him than that. Instead, what he barely manages to croak out is: "You're welcome! Just take better care of yourself from now on, okay?" After that, he goes back to washing Ronon, keeping his eyes down the whole time.

Ronon says nothing about the fact that he can't seem to look at him any more.

It's obvious they're both still a little raw from their experience. At least, Carson knows _he_ is. So many times he thought Ronon wouldn't make it through, and he can't seem to untangle those emotions from what he's feeling now whenever he looks at Ronon. So, he pushes those feelings to one side, and he concentrates on doing his job, washing Ronon gently and thoroughly.

When he's done with Ronon's chest, he moves onto his arms, staying there until Ronon's skin is gleaming. He knows it's time to move lower, yet he finds himself strangely hesitant even though he has done this a hundred times before for just as many patients and several for Ronon alone. He's well aware that Ronon's eyes are still fixed on him, and something about that makes it different now washing Ronon so intimately while Ronon is awake watching him.

In the end, Carson says, "I think you can handle the rest," holding out the sponge, feeling his face heat with embarrassment. When Ronon takes it from him, grazing his fingers along the way, that brief moment of contact makes him shiver.

Carson backs off at once, feeling completely out of sorts. He's not sure why he's reacting this way, but what he does know is that he needs time—time to get his emotions back under control, and space to restore his equilibrium. "I'll go get us some breakfast," he says, thinking that's probably as good a way to start as any. "Then we'll see about getting you back to your room."

"No," Ronon growls at him.

"No?" Carson frowns, puzzled by that vehement response. "I've never known you to turn down food!"

"Not turning down _the food_ ," Ronon clarifies. "I'm just not moving," he continues, folding both arms across his chest, almost daring him to disagree.

"Okay," Carson concedes beacuse, in truth, that still raw part of him is a tad relieved to have Ronon where he can keep an eye on him. Looking around, he starts planning where he's going to put all the equipment he'll need. Undoubtedly, it will be cramped, but he thinks they can manage. "Aye, it probably _is_ best if you stay put until you're stronger. We'll move you in a couple of days."

"No," Ronon growls again.

Now, Carson is completely confused. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"I'm not moving."

"Well, you'll have to move sometime!" And now _he's_ the one folding his arms. "You can't stay here forever, son," he says briskly.

"Why not?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your bed's more comfortable than mine," Ronon tells him. "Besides, I like it here. I don't want to move."

Carson hasn't forgotten how stubborn Ronon can be or what a weird sense of humour he has, but right then he's not entirely sure which of the two he's dealing with. "Ronon," he begins, trying to reason with him. "These are _my_ quarters!" When Ronon just looks at him with an oddly patient expression, he adds, "I can make sure you're just as comfortable in _yours_ , and . . .. "

The sight of Ronon yawning all of a sudden makes him trail off.

What's so strange about it is that Ronon's eyes are sharp and alert; he just looks incredibly bored with the line of conversation. When Carson tries again to bring up the topic of him moving, Ronon throws in some outlandish stretching to go with the yawning before settling back and saying nothing, still with that oddly patient expression.

"Fine!" Carson says. "We'll talk about this when I get back." Then he walks out of his quarters, muttering under his breath about all the insanity he has to put up with.

***

In the mess hall, Carson spends an inordinate amount of time trying to decide between the kind of food he knows Ronon likes and food he knows will be good for Ronon. Finally, he settles on a mixture of both, picking up some oatmeal and some of those fruity loops Ronon loves so much.

Moving further down the line, he bumps into John Sheppard, who gives him a panicked _deer in the head-lights_ sort of look before he says, "Hey, Carson!" sounding like his usual smooth, easy-going persona.

"Colonel," Carson replies just as smoothly.

John swallows audibly before tugging at his collar. "So, where's Ronon?" he asks.

"Oh, I left him in bed," Carson says absently, a little distracted by the dazzling array of yoghurts on display and the sudden reminder of Ronon's bizarre behaviour.

There's a strange choking sound beside him, and when he looks round, John is staring at him, wide-eyed now with shock. "Ronon's in your _*bed*_?" John gasps.

"Aye! And it's doesn't look like he'll be moving any time soon." Carson picks up one of the pots of yoghurt, shakes his head, and then he puts it back down. "Seems he has taken a bit of a shine to it," he mutters under his breath, looking for another flavour.

The ensuing silence stretches into lengths even Carson finds strange for John.

"What?" he asks him, after several moments have passed.

"Oh, nothing," John responds blithely, though soon it becomes clear that John is smirking about something.

It's an expression Rodney has described to him in excruciating detail, and he has never really understood why it annoys Rodney so much until now. "Spit it out, son!" he snaps. "I haven't got all day, you know."

"It's just, you know, the way you said you left Ronon in bed," John tells him, eyebrows raised.

Carson feels his face go bright red. "He said my bed was comfortable, that's all," he huffs, absolutely indignant. He's not even sure _why_ he's defending himself or Ronon for that matter. Especially since he knows that, if Ronon were here, Ronon would probably find this kind of misunderstanding absolutely hilarious, and would, in fact, start doing everything possible to make things worse. In spite of that, he finds himself scolding: "It's a filthy mind that wallows in the gutter! You would do well to remember that."

"Hey, hey, lighten up! I'm sorry, okay?" John's hands go up in a placating gesture before John steps closer, lowering his voice. "Carson, Ronon doesn't like sleeping in beds," he goes on to explain. "He sleeps on the floor in his room or out on the pier sometimes. Hell, I'm not even sure he has willingly slept in a bed since he got here!"

"Then why on earth is he so hell bent on staying in mine?"

The moment Carson utters those words, something clicks into place.

John just pats him on the shoulder before leaving him to face the rest of his epiphany alone.

***

When Carson returns to his quarters, he soon sees what Biro, Sheppard and a whole host of other people have been hinting at for days. There's a beautiful naked man lying in his bed waiting for him. A man, who treasures his friendship and who only seems to care for him. A man, who is also watching him now with an almost frightening intensity. He's not sure what kind of expression _he_ has on _his_ face, but on Ronon's there's a look of fierce satisfaction, like Ronon has just achieved something incredibly important.

It hits him then that perhaps this has all been going on for a very long time. Carefully, he thinks back to the evenings he and Ronon have spent together, the way they can sit for hours talking, and the way Ronon sometimes just shows up in the infirmary with a cup of tea when he craves it the most. Christ, Ronon has even taken him to Manaria to meet what's left of his people.

"I'm an idiot," he whispers.

"Yeah," Ronon answers him.

Carson sets the tray of food he's carrying down on the bed. "I'm not sure I like how quickly you agreed with me!"

Ronon glances surreptitiously at the tray before saying, "Can I eat first before we fight about this?"

The laugh Carson lets out then is a little strained. A year ago, he might have thought that Ronon wasn't taking this seriously, but now that he knows Ronon better, he understands that Ronon is, in fact, trying to give him time to adjust.

God, does he need every second.

Sitting down, he watches Ronon finish all the food on the tray. And when Ronon's done, he holds his breath as Ronon pushes it to one side before taking both of his hands in his. "How long?" he asks all of a sudden, needing to know.

"I've been yours since we met," Ronon tells him. "Just been waiting for you to notice."

That quiet admission rocks him to the core. Although he wasn't sure what to expect for an answer, it certainly wasn't that! "So," he goes on, very quiet now. "This isn't just about sex, is it?"

"That all you want?" Ronon asks him, equally quiet.

Slowly, Carson shakes his head. He has never been any good at that sort of relationship, and something tells him Ronon won't go for that either. Heart racing, he watches Ronon's fingers trail across his palm and up along his own fingers before linking with them. These are hands he knows can kill, yet they have also pulled him out of danger. They've taken care of him when he has least expected it, and it almost scares him how much he likes having them on his skin.

"What do _you_ want?" Carson looks up, trying not to fidget. "I mean, from me—what do you—"

"Everything," Ronon interrupts him, stating his intentions plainly.

Suddenly Carson finds it difficult to breathe. His heart is pounding, his hands start shaking, and he realizes that he's already in far deeper than he thought. The only difference now is that he can feel himself falling, racing headlong toward a place he's terrified he'll never be able to come back from. So, he tries to pull back a little, but Ronon won't let go; and when Ronon draws him into a hug, he lays his head on Ronon's shoulder, feeling the warmth from Ronon's skin seep into his bones.

"I could learn to sleep in a bed again if it's yours," Ronon tells him, whispering softly in his ear. "I want to every night with you, if you'll let me."

"Ronon, _Jesus_ ," Carson whispers, overwhelmed by all of this because Ronon isn't the kind of person to do casual, neither is _he_. So he knows that if they decide to do this, then this will be it for him.

As he sits there cradled in Ronon's arms, he can feel the life he knows shifting and turning and re-shaping all around him. There are several arguments he gives about why he and Ronon shouldn't take this any further. All of them rational and sensible, all of which slowly get brushed aside by the heartfelt words Ronon gives him in return. Words about longing, about need, and about love, which Carson hears and which strike him deep in his heart. Soon, he's the one holding Ronon tight, caught in a dizzying rush of fear and elation, finally recognizing that twisting, aching sensation in his chest for what it is.

"I'll want everything with you too," Carson says in the end, cupping Ronon's face gently in his hands. Even though a part of him thinks it might be too soon to make such promises, something tells him that Ronon needs to hear those words.

Moments later, Carson is so glad that he did because Ronon shudders helplessly against him, slowly stroking a point high on his neck with trembling fingers. And when Ronon leans in to kiss him, Carson meets him halfway, feeling the strong ties of their friendship turn to fire.

***

Later, Carson lies there in bed smiling up at the ceiling, absently stroking Ronon's hair. Ronon is fast asleep on top of him, sprawled out across his bed like he owns it now, in a way that suggests Ronon has absolutely no intention of ever leaving it.

Carson finds he has absolutely no problem with that at all.

  
The End.  



End file.
